


echoes off the bathroom walls.

by montes-carpatus (Carpathyah)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Male Solo, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpathyah/pseuds/montes-carpatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexual frustration fuels the imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	echoes off the bathroom walls.

**Author's Note:**

> written for anotherdirtyheadcanonblog on tumblr

There was nothing more lonely than an empty apartment on a Friday night. The rooms were silent except for the man in the bathtub. The mirror was fogged by the heat of the hot water on his head. His long dark hair drenched and stuck to his skin. The glass bottle of vodka sat barely touched in the corner near his ear. The water hitting it making a repetitive melody that echoed off the tiled walls. 

Jon had been thinking, thinking about him for weeks now. It made his heart beat hard until it hurt. It sucked the air out of his lungs. He bit and licked his lips until they chapped. It made his knees weaker than soft rubber. 

He reminded himself he was a grown man; a grown man capable of seeing this with the plausibility that the admiration may not be reciprocated. It didn’t make it any less painful to think of. It had led to many sleepless nights and evenings like this. He was also a man with needs, and it led to long showers until the water turned cold.

He let his eyes close shut. His imagination took control of his body, letting his hand rub his inner thigh. He was already sensitive to touch and it made him squirm. He wanted more as he let his pruned fingers lightly touch the bottom of his shaft, letting the smallest little whimper escape his mouth. He ran his fingers up and down, and deciding that his pruned fingers weren’t going to feel well. 

This happened enough that he left the silicone lube in the shower with him. The bottle was already half empty when he reached over and poured a generous amount on his hands. He went back into position, letting his now softer hands grip himself. 

In his head, he went no where extravagant. He was in his bed, his back against his headboard and the man was between his legs. His hand followed the man’s in tight strokes. It made his toes curl and his hips rise slightly into the hold. He could hear his chuckle; enough to believe that he was in the room with him, watching. 

He would put on a show for him. Imagining him teasing his head until he couldn’t sit still anymore. His cries were the loudest now. His left hand cupped his balls, squeezing at intervals. He imagined his lips on his thighs, leaving little bruises where his teeth were. He wanted him inside and he slid down the tub a little to give himself a better angle to finger himself.

“Fuck,” was the first word he had spoken since he started. His fingers were cold in comparison to his entrance. The stimulation made him slip further down until he was almost laying down with his legs awkwardly spread apart. He didn’t have the motor skills to stroke himself with two hands well. One finger became two quickly as he curled and grinded against them. His right hand still gripping tightly closer to the head, feeling his heart pulsating in his dick. 

The water was lukewarm, making him grind harder as he moaned. The image was clear, as he pounded him with his hands on his sides to make him move with him. He was lost in the mess of sheets and pillows, trying to get his orgasm to span out longer. 

Reality was a bit off, he felt pre-cum trickle onto his hand and once the cold water touched his shoulders he released. He took deep, quick breaths as he opened his eyes to see the warm, sticky mess on his chest. He slowly pulled out and let go, feeling his fingers tense and slick. 

He let the cold water wake him. He quickly washed himself with the bar of soap and rinsed off. He was shivering, his skin going from hot and pink to pale and dry. His hands were soft, pruned and cold. His heart still beating violently in his chest. His mind drifted back and forth from dreams to reality. He wasn’t in the room with him. He didn’t watch him masturbate to a touch his never received. He was never inside him. 

His hair dripped water down his dry back. He towel-dried his hair before reaching for the vodka bottle he left behind. He would need more than an orgasm to get him to sleep that evening.


End file.
